


gambit

by oopsabird



Series: en prise [1]
Category: DCU, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Get-Together Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Interrogation, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mission Fic, Post-Canon, Serious Injuries, Whump, a dozen tropes stacked together in a trenchcoat, epilogue compliant, liberal mis-use of historical timelines and the field of medicine, sober Charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 16:17:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird
Summary: gambit: in chess, a sacrifice used to gain an early advantage in space or time at the opening of a game.or;Sameer does something arguably reckless, and consequences ensue.





	gambit

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Would you believe that this still isn't my big fic, or the WIP I started after that, _or_ the one I started after _that?_ Apparently I have a lot of ideas for these two! This started yesterday afternoon as "let's just write this concept down to get it out of my head" and now, voila. Honestly, it's less a plot and much more "a dozen tropes stacked together in a trenchcoat", but that's okay, because this is fandom and that means it’s all in good fun!
> 
> You may notice a violence warning on this. It's not as grim-dark as the tags sound; some canon-typical punching/kicking/fighting, minor blood mentions, blows to the head, and not-overly-graphic descriptions of bleeding wounds (just talks about blood). I played it safe with the warning. If you think I need to add more detail to that list, please share! Also, I took hella liberties with geography, history, the field of medicine, principles of logic, and probably the fabric of space-time. But hey, it's all good fun in the name of tropes (and love)! So suspend your disbelief, and enjoy!
> 
> Continuity note: this is unconnected to my other works, (though you may want to read them for characterization) and takes place something like a year or more after the movie's [Epilogue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YOb_PkrJokk&t=3s), so Charlie's gotten sober and the team is running magical-artifact-retrieval missions for British Intelligence under Etta's command (both of which are amazing real canon things that happen, fyi)
> 
> eternal shoutout to the ever-patient elri, proof-reader and confidant supreme

 

* * *

 

 

 

_gambit: in chess, a sacrifice used to gain an early advantage in space or time at the opening of a game._

 

 

* * *

 

        They had been in worse binds before, of that Sameer was certain. Still, he was feeling a bit on edge about their odds of squeezing through this one completely unscathed.

        He peered around the corner once again, trying to count the gaggle of guards hovering by the gate of the Soviet compound - their only exit. Six. Maybe eight. Possibly ten? They kept  _moving_.

        “How many?” Chief hissed from behind him.

        “Six,” Sami whispered back, “maybe ten at most, it’s hard to tell from here.”

        “What?” Charlie whispered from behind Chief, “Whaddya mean, you can’t tell? Lemme come look.”

        “No!” Sami hissed, turning back to glare at him, “I am the only one in their uniform, I am the only one who speaks Russian. _You_ are disguised as peasant workers, and you must not draw attention unless absolutely necessary - because if they question you, it’s  _all_  over. We have discussed this. Several times.”

        “Fine,” Charlie grumbled, retreating behind the stack of crates that hid him and Chief from view, “but if there’s that many, exactly  _how_  are we gonna get out through that?”

        “Whatever we do, we should hurry,” Chief whispered, “It’s almost sundown - Etta’s definitely waiting at the pickup point by now. She’ll start worrying if we’re late, and I don’t want to hear _that_ lecture again.”

        “Listen,” Sami said, coming back to crouch down and join them behind the crates, “Chief, you got the artifact?”

        Chief nodded, patting the front of his coat, where the ancient and mysterious ceremonial knife they were retrieving was tucked safely in its sheath and hidden away.

        “Excellent,” Sami said, smiling and nodding back.

        “And Charlie, you’ve got the documents, yeah?”

        Charlie nodded, patting the inside of his left ankle, where the weapon designs they had also liberated were hidden under his sock.

        “Right here.”

        “Good.” Sami smiled, clapping him on the shoulder, and taking secret satisfaction from the warm smile Charlie gave him in return. It solidified Sami’s commitment to the plan forming in his mind, to getting them safely out.

        Perhaps after this mission was over, he would stop playing chicken and finally start working up to telling Charlie how he felt. More and more, Sami’s optimistic side hinted Charlie might even feel the same; it was the way he looked at him, sometimes, when he thought Sami couldn't see. But all that would have to wait for the safe return to England - right now, they had a job to finish.

        Sami took a deep breath. “Alright, here’s what we are going to do...”

        Less than five minutes later, Sami came striding out from behind the wall, nonchalant as anything. He calmly approached the group of soldiers.

        “Товарищи!” he called out, waving to them. Every single one turned to look at him, and Sami felt his heart rate kick up a notch, making sure it didn’t show on his face. _No turning back now._

        “Good afternoon! I was wondering if you- wait a second,  _Vasily?_ Is that you?” he exclaimed in Russian, singling out one of the men at random. The man, who was likely not named Vasily, pointed to himself and looked around at his friends in confusion.

        “Vasily, my friend!” Sami continued loudly, “It is so good to see you again!” reaching the group, he stopped so that all of them were between him and the gate. It made him feel rather trapped, and deeply uneasy, but it was the only way for this plan to work - now he just had to keep their attention.

        “... I am not Vasily,” Not-Vasily said, still confused, but not yet overtly suspicious. He laughed, and so did his companions. “I think you are mistaken, comrade.”

        “Nonsense!” Sami said, trying very hard not to conspicuously look over Not-Vasily’s shoulder, to where Charlie and Chief were now beginning to creep their way along the wall and out the gate. “Vasily Ovetchkin; we were stationed together in Odessa! How is your wife? How is your little sister?”

        Now the man was becoming irritated.

        “I do not have a wife, _or_ a sister. I have never even _been_ to Odessa! I am not your friend Vasily!” he took a step toward Sami, a clear message to back off.

        Sami had decided his character today was a bit of an idiot, so he ignored these signals and reached out to clap Not-Vasily on the arm.

        “Are you sure? You are the spitting image!” Charlie and Chief were almost all the way out the gate now, unaccosted, so Sami buried his nervousness and kept his tone non-threatening and cheerful, “Surely my friend, you must remember that night at the pub in Kiev, when you were _all over_ that beautiful Slovenian girl, but _I_ told you-"

        Not-Vasily batted Sami’s hand away, growing red-faced.

        “I told _you,_ I am _not_ Vasily! You are confused, and you are annoying me. Leave us now.” he drew himself up to his full height, but that wasn’t much taller than Sami, so he wasn’t much bothered. It was the small crowd of soldiers at Not-Vasily’s back that really worried him. Just moments more, then Chief and Charlie would be clear, and hopefully he could make his own escape without having to fight this out.

        “Well, perhaps you know him!” Sami said cheerfully, still playing the hapless fool, “As I said, you look so much alike as to be brothers! Perhaps he is your cousin?”

        “He is not my cousin!” Not-Vasily exclaimed, exasperated and flustered. Some of his friends were beginning to snicker, clearly amused by the situation. “I do not know this man! I do not know you! Please, go away! Don’t you have work to be doing?”

        Chief and Charlie were nearly outside the gate now - a few more feet, and they could turn out of sight and break for the tree line. Sami began planning his getaway lines, thinking this would at least be an amusing little story to relate on the way to the rendezvous. Charlie especially should get a laugh out of it, which was always nice - Sami liked making him laugh.

         Just then, as it seemed the coast might be almost clear, one of the men turned away from the group to sneeze loudly into his arm. As he looked up and wiped his nose on his sleeve, he spotted Chief and Charlie.

         “Hey!” he shouted in Russian, shaking the shoulder of the man beside him and pointing, “who the hell are they?!”

         In the frozen split-second moment as all the Soviets turned to look, Sami made a flash decision.

         “My mistake,” he said loudly, catching some of their attention, “perhaps I do not know you after all.” Then he raised his fist and punched Not-Vasily square on the jaw.

         The man staggered back, stunned. Charlie and Chief had stopped in their tracks, looking back at the sudden commotion.

         The Soviets spun back to face Sami, obviously torn between him and the intruders at the gate. Sami took advantage of their hesitation, and hit Not-Vasily again with a vicious uppercut, knocking him out cold on the cobblestones.

         This successfully diverted the group’s full attention to him.

         “Imposter!” one shouted, as the man beside him ran off to raise the alarm, “seize him!”

         Many of the Soviets still stared in shock, but one took a swing at Sami, who dodged under it; an alarm bell began to ring, jolting the rest into motion, and then all hell proceeded to break loose.

         “RUN!!” Sami bellowed in English to Charlie and Chief. He ducked as another Soviet took a swing at him, elbowing the man in the gut, “GO ON, RUN!”

         Sami caught a rifle butt to the ribs, stumbling, and retaliated by kicking that man’s knee in, generating a satisfying howl of pain. No way he was making this easy for them. He would fight his way out if it killed him.

         Chief turned and started to go, but Charlie stood there still, frozen in place and staring back in horror. Chief ran back and grabbed his arm, saying something Sami couldn’t hear, and apparently that broke the spell.

         “NO!” Charlie shouted, and shook off Chief’s hand, starting to run back towards the gate - towards him. Sami felt a spike of fear jab sharp like a knife in his gut.

         Chief leapt forward and threw both arms around Charlie’s shoulders, dragging him back and away from the fight. Sami thought he had never felt so grateful in his entire life as he did to Chief in that very moment.

         “Oi, lemme go!” Charlie yelled, clawing at Chief’s arm across his chest, “they’re gonna get him! Lemme go, we gotta help him!”

         He was struggling hard, digging in his heels, but Chief had height and strength on his side, and was dragging Charlie away faster than the Soviets seemed able to mobilize men to chase them.

          _Thank god,_ Sami thought, turning away from watching them to punch another solider in the face, _thank god, I think they might make it._

         He reached to draw his revolver from under his coat, hoping that he could still make it too, but caught a rifle butt across the chin, knocking him to the ground.

         “SAMEER!”

         The gun went clattering from his hand, and when he reached after it, a booted foot kicked it out of reach, stepping on his wrist. Another foot pressed down on his back, pinning his stomach to the cobblestones.

         Looking up, he saw Chief still dragging Charlie away - further now, far enough that the guards just might not catch them before they hit the tree line. Sami couldn’t help but crack a triumphant smile at that, even though he could taste blood in his mouth as he did. They could make it. The mission could still succeed. His friends would be safe. Charlie would be safe.

         Charlie, who was still shouting his name, his expression one of anguish and pure, animalistic fear as he fought in vain to get free, to get back to him. It made Sami’s heart twist in his chest.

          _Forgive me,_ he thought, remorseful but without regret.

         Then a rifle butt hit his temple, and he thought nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

         Since his capture, Sameer couldn’t tell how much time he’d spent awake, or how much he’d spent unconscious.

         He had no real concept of time at all - they kept him in dark windowless rooms, probably a basement, and had taken his watch when they took his guns. They took his jackets and vest too, and his boots, so he was near-constantly shivering.

          _Fucking Soviets, with their cold fucking Soviet weather, and their damp fucking Soviet basements._

         At any given time, he was either tied to a chair or a pipe in a small dim room, having the daylights beat out of him; or he was lying on the floor in a smaller, dimmer cell with a bucket in the corner, assessing the damage and counting his cracked ribs. If he’d had worse, this time he really couldn’t remember it.

         He didn’t recall being fed at all - a few times, a single tin mug of water was put through a hole in the door; a burly man watched shrewdly as he leaned on the wall and greedily gulped it down, then snatched the cup back when he finished. He couldn’t be sure if he’d slept, outside of being knocked unconscious - the respites in his cell were always short-lived and incoherent.

         He didn’t see or hear any other prisoners, but he was also very out of it most of the time, so he couldn’t be sure he was the only one. In his mind, over and over he saw Charlie, trying desperately to break free of Chief and run after him, and his chest contracted with fear. Sami prayed to god and anything else that might listen, that he was the only one.

         They asked him questions in Russian and broken English throughout the beatings -  _who are you; who do you work for; what did you come for; who were the men with you; are there more of you; where did they go?_

          _Where did they go?_

         “You didn’t get them,” Sami realized, the relief of it crashing down and nearly overwhelming, “they got away, you didn’t get them, they  _got away_ ,” and he laughed out loud at that, elated and a little crazed, laughing and laughing until they knocked him into oblivion once again.

         Through the haze, he could periodically hear voices, though he couldn’t always make out what they were saying. Now, as he clawed his way to full consciousness, tied up in the chair, he could tell these two were arguing.

         The room was as always dimly lit by a single overhead lamp, and one of his eyes had started to swell nearly shut, but he could still make out two silhouettes; a tall thin man nearby and a stocky, shorter one, a few feet away.

         “Мы не можем продолжать... pummelling him like this!” The stocky man was saying, in what Sami belatedly realized was Russian, “Soon enough it will kill him, and then we won’t get  _anything!_ You need to get the boss to let me try,  _properly_.”

         “If he’s to die, then I say let us kill him and be done with it!” retorted the thin man, “It’s been days, and he hasn’t told us even his name - what makes you think he’s going to crack after a few more beatings or your special tools? Need I remind you who is in charge here?”

         “No sir, but I still believe my techniques ca- wait, what was that?”

         “What?”

         “That sound, it was almost like... an explosion...”

         “It was a door slamming. Don’t be so paranoid.”

         Sami had heard it too, a low reverberating _whump_ somewhere in the near distance.

         He raised his head from his chest and hurriedly looked around, but was rewarded with another disorienting blow to the head for his efforts. His vision briefly blacked out to a pattern of dancing stars.

         When awareness returned, his head was lolling on his chest and there was blood in his mouth again; he watched absently as it dripped down to join the other stains on his once-white shirt. He felt horribly dizzy.

         “Do not go getting your hopes up, spy. That sound was nothing.” spat the thin man who had wanted him dead. He crouched before the chair, reaching out to take Sami’s chin in his hand, forcing his head up to meet his eyes.

         The man’s expression turned to false warmth, his tone conciliatory and full of hollow comfort. “There is no rescue coming. Your comrades have forgotten you, and they have left you to die. Why protect their secrets any longer? They did not bother to protect you - they do not deserve your loyalty.”

         “Пошел ты.” Sami growled, and spat in his face.

         The poison smile fell from the thin man’s mouth, and he let Sami’s head drop with a jerk. He stood up and wiped the bloody spittle from his cheek, growling in disgust.

         “Fine. I have tired of this, in any case. You think you are being brave, you want to be a hero? Then you can die like one, and we’ll throw you out with the rest of the garbage.” He drew his pistol, stepping back and pointing it at Sami’s head. He clicked the safety off.

         Sami glared up at him, determined to be defiant to the last, even though it took enormous effort just to lift his head.

         Watching the man’s finger curl around the trigger, the moment seemed to stretch out, time dilating as Sami realized this was really going to be the end. He closed his eyes.

         His mind, unexpectedly, conjured the memory of Charlie’s hands flying across lamplit piano keys - he couldn’t remember the song, but he remembered Charlie laughing between the notes, loud and cheerful. In that moment, he felt a sense of peace and comfort, only slightly tainted by remorse.

          _I wish I could have said goodbye,_ Sami thought.  _I wish I could have told him that I love him. I wish I could have said I was sorry._

         He took a deep, trembling breath.

         Then the door of the room blew in off its hinges, an explosion that filled the room with smoke and set Sami’s ears ringing. His eyes flew open and time snapped back to normal speed like an elastic; a number of things happened at once:

         The stocky man was clipped by the flying door with a sickening thud, and fell out of view in the smoke.

         The thin man half-turned towards the door, his aim wavering as he looked away, finger squeezing on the trigger.

         Several gunshots rang out.

         Sami felt a sharp, disconnected sort of pain somewhere below his left shoulder.

         The thin man collapsed to his knees, gaping down with an almost offended expression at the gunshot wounds through his chest - he had been shot twice in the back. Then his face went slack and he fell sideways onto the floor, dead. Sami stared dumbly down at him and his smoking gun, his stunned brain utterly unable to process what was going on.

         Over the ringing in his ears, people were shouting in what might likely be English, but Sami heard it as if from a great distance. Everything felt slow and far away, including his own body and all his pain.

         The shouting got closer - it sounded familiar, but he couldn’t just then remember why it might, and he couldn’t stop staring down at the dead man. He thought the smoke might be burning his lungs, and he felt impossibly tired. His toes were cold, he noted absently. A shadow fell over his eyes - someone was in front of him, blocking the lamp.

         “Oh  _god,_ ” said one of the familiar voices - the most familiar voice, a voice that Sami _knew_ \- and then there was a hand on Sami’s knee and another gently lifting his head, and then he was looking into Charlie’s frightened blue eyes.

         “Ch... wh...” Sami couldn’t get his mouth to form words - could barely get his mind to conjure them. Charlie was here. _Charlie_ was here. Charlie was  _here._

         He had come back for him.

         Sami could hardly keep his head upright, leaning gratefully against Charlie’s palm. He was cold, and so tired, but Charlie’s hands were warm.

         “Chief! He’s over here!” Charlie shouted over his shoulder; both hands moved to cradle Sami’s jaw, carefully keeping his head up. He turned back to Sami, concern furrowing his brow as he said, quiet but firm, “Shh, Sameer, don’t try an’ talk. Save your strength, okay? You’re safe now Sami, I’ve got you - we’re gonna get you out. You’re safe.”

         His thumb caressed the bruised line of Sami’s cheekbone, the movement and the look in his eyes so achingly gentle that Sami nearly sobbed.

         Someone passed through his peripheral vision from across the room, moving behind him; there was a scratching noise and suddenly his hands were free of their ropes, and the tightness at his waist and ankles fell away too. He sagged against Charlie’s hands supporting his head and right shoulder, finding little strength to keep himself upright.

         “Thank you, Chief,” Charlie breathed, speaking to someone behind Sami.

          _Chief is here,_ Sami realized, belatedly;  _he came back for me too._ His lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.

         Then, Charlie’s gaze caught on Sami’s left shoulder, eyes widening in the low light.

         Sami remembered abruptly that something over there hurt quite a lot, in the same distant way as the rest of him, but also like it might be a bit more urgent. He just felt so very tired, like his eyes didn’t want to stay open anymore. His hands and feet were getting colder.

         “Charlie...” he heard Chief say behind him, tone worried.

         “Oh god,” Charlie exclaimed, hands flying to Sami’s left shoulder and coming away soaked in red, “oh  _god,_ you’ve been shot, you’ve been shot, oh  _fuck,_ oh bloody fuckin’ hell-”

         Sami looked down, at the rapidly growing dark red stain on the shirt’s filthy white fabric; the bullet hole and the source of that distant nagging pain. His head was so foggy - when had that even happened?

         “Oh,” he said, and collapsed off the chair into Charlie’s arms.

         Faintly, he could hear them shouting his name, feel Charlie’s hands pressing down below his shoulder and holding Sami against his lap. There was a terrible, wrenching fear in his voice, in his eyes as Sami gazed up at him, struggling to keep his own eyes open. He was just so tired - perhaps he could rest, if only for just a moment.

          _No, don’t you leave me,_  Charlie’s eyes screamed, or maybe it was his voice, _don’t you dare leave me behind again, don’t you dare_

         Sami wanted to reach out, smooth Charlie’s brow, soothe that feeling away and apologize, but his arms were sandbags and his tongue was lead. He had to settle for weakly grabbing the front of Charlie’s coat where it hung by his hand, hoping his meaning was conveyed without words.

          _I’m sorry._

         Sami didn’t want to go, he truly didn’t - but he was so very very tired; the cool dark waters were lapping at his knees and rising fast, promising sweet relief and release.

         His eyelids finally grew too unbearably heavy to keep up anymore; so he let them slip closed and let the peaceful water wash over him, carried away on the sensations of Charlie’s voice and Charlie’s hands and his blue, blue eyes.

 

* * *

 

         Sami woke with a start, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

         The light was too bright, and absolutely everything hurt - not the distant foggy pain of before, but sharp and present and vicious and all over. He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut and flinching, but that made it all worse, and he cried out again, louder.

         Suddenly, there were many voices with British accents, clamouring above him  _(lie still son, calm down, lie still)_ and hands everywhere, holding him still, holding him down as he shouted and thrashed about.

         Over it all he could hear an English woman _(let them help him, he’s gonna hurt himself, please just stay back and let them help)_ and a Scottish man _(get the hell away from him, lemme get to him, Etta get out of my way)_ shouting, arguing. Sami wanted to call out to them, but he was hurt and confused and everything was too much all at once, he couldn’t form the words any more than he could open his eyes.

         There was a fresh pinprick in the sea of pain that was his arm, and then the blessed relief of darkness swept over him once more.

 

* * *

 

          When Sami woke up the second time, it was gentle and slow. His body still hurt all over, but it was a dull, throbbing ache, one which after a few seconds, he decided he could bear. Blearily, he opened his eyes.

          It was nighttime, but the faint light of the moon and streetlights filtered in through windows at the whitewashed ceiling. He was in a bed, lying on his back with the sheets and a scratchy wool blanket pulled up to his chest. His head and body ached, and his mouth felt like it was full of sand, but after a quick mental self-inventory, he knew he’d definitely felt worse.

         The little room, and evidently the whole ward around it, was very silent, except for a faint snoring sound from down by his right hip.

         Wait.

         With great effort, Sami propped himself up on his elbows to look down the bed. His suspicions were confirmed.

         Charlie sat in a chair pulled up to the bedside; he was bent nearly double so that his head rested on the mattress by Sami’s hand, folded arms acting as a pillow. He was sound asleep.

         Sami knew he couldn’t possibly be one to talk, but Charlie looked rough - even with the low light, he could see dark circles beneath his eyes, and a day or two’s pale stubble on his cheeks. His hair was in that telltale pattern of disarray that said he’d been running his hands through it constantly, pointing all over the place. Sami noticed upon further inspection that he wasn’t even actually wearing his suit jacket - someone had draped it over his shoulders like a blanket; probably Etta. Even in sleep, a faint frown creased Charlie’s brow, his anxieties following him into his dreams.

         Without thinking, Sami lifted his hand from the mattress to gently caress Charlie’s worried forehead, and smooth down his chaotic hair.

          _Ne t'inquiète pas, chéri,_ he thought fondly, hand stopping to rest on Charlie’s cheek.

         That was, of course, when Charlie woke up.

         His eyes blinked open, zeroing in on Sami’s face, and he sat up quickly, jacket falling from his shoulders.

         Sami hurriedly moved to retract his hand - to his shock, Charlie reached out to grab it mid-air.

         For a moment, they froze like that, staring at each other with surprise in the moonlight. Sami could feel himself starting to tremble with the effort of staying propped up on one elbow - his body was still exhausted.

         Charlie moved first, releasing Sami’s hand to stand and reach behind him, adjusting the pillows.

         “There,” he said, pushing gently on Sami’s less injured shoulder, “lie back on that now, there ya go.”

         Sami settled back on the pillows, which propped him up in a near-sitting position, immediately feeling relieved and immensely grateful.

         Charlie angled his chair to face the head of the bed and sank back into it with a sigh. His left hand hovered at the edge of the mattress, his expression uncertain; like he wanted to reach out again but wasn’t sure it would be welcome. Sami decided to put him out of his misery, and wrapped Charlie’s hand in his own, squeezing tight.

         “Thank you,” he rasped, throat painfully dry, “that’s much better.”

         “Hang on,” Charlie said, releasing his hand to fetch a glass of water from the nightstand and bring it to Sami’s lips, helping him sip from it, “drink a bit of this, nice ‘n slow - they said you cannae have too much right away.”

         After Sami had a few sips, Charlie set the glass aside, and took his hand this time without hesitation, the worried look a little less prominent in his eyes.

         “How long have I been out?” Sami asked, quiet.

         “Almost three days,” Charlie said, expression grim, “they had you sedated for a good part of it, on account a’ how you were thrashin’ about and aggravatin’ your injuries. Shoulder in particular.” He nodded at the mass of bandages which Sami now noticed covered the upper left side of his chest beneath the hospital smock.

         “Ah.” Sami said, nodding gingerly. He looked up at the moonlit window, “And how long... how long was I in there?”

         Charlie was silent for a long moment, his hand tightening on Sami’s as he stared at the wall.

         “Too bloody long,” he ground out.

         “Charlie,” Sami said, looking at him sternly, “how long?”

         Charlie sighed, and said, bitterly, “Four days. Three damn days before they caved ‘n gave us the support we needed to go in and get you, one day to do the job.”

         “Caved?” Sami said.

         “They didn’t...” Charlie seemed to have difficulty talking about this without raising his voice, so he stopped and collected himself, “...the powers that be were unsure if it was  _justified_  to spend time and supplies going after you. They said you were most likely- that you must be- that there was no chance of success. Etta... convinced ‘em otherwise.”

         “Etta did?” Sami said, curious and a little amused, “and what did you do?”

         Charlie’s expression turned unexpectedly sheepish - he scratched at the back of his head and looked away.

         “Er... probably damn near got myself court-martialed, honestly, what with the names I called Director Rosenthal. And the rest of the council. And their mothers. And their fathers. And their wives.” Charlie smiled a little, somehow managing to be embarrassed and a bit proud at the same time.

         “You  _didn’t!_ ” Sami gasped, half-laughing though his ribs protested. Oh, to have seen the look on those stuffy old buggers’ faces!

         “I  _did._ Pretty sure Etta’s the only reason I still even have a job.” Charlie’s expression then turned serious, and his grip tightened on Sami’s hand. He fixed him with a stern, reprimanding gaze. “Could probably find some choice words for you too, for sacrificing yourself like that.”

         “Charlie I-“

         “For example: you are a crazy, stupidly brave, heroic, selfish  _idiot-_ “

         “Selfish!?” Sami exclaimed, “Just how the hell-“

         “Who never thought for a  _second_  how I- how we-“ Charlie’s tone grew heated, his face distressed.

         “You were _all_ I thought about! I made a choice to-“

         “To throw your life away? Like it was worth less than ours, like we couldn’t find another way-“

         “I was trying to  _save_  you-“

         “Well I don’t want you to be another goddamn Steve Trevor!” Charlie spat, red-faced. Sami stared at him in stunned shock, jaw dropping - Charlie barreled on, heedless.

         “I know you’re just tryin’ to do what’s right Sameer, I know; but I have lost far too many people I bloody well liked to this godforsaken job, I’m sure as  _hell_  not about to lose someone I love!”

         As soon as the words left his mouth, Charlie looked like he wanted to snatch them back, like he hadn’t meant to say it - all the colour drained from his face.

         The silence was deafeningly empty, save for Sami’s heart pounding in his ears.

         “...love?” Sami whispered.

         Charlie was staring at the wall, somewhere far above Sami’s head, his face solemn and forced blank. He squeezed Sami’s hand tight, and nodded, just once.

         Sami’s breath stuttered in his chest.

         He didn’t quite have the strength to sit up, so instead, he lifted Charlie’s hand from the mattress and brought it to his lips. Looking down, he pressed a kiss to the knuckles, then lowered it to his chest, so Charlie could feel his heartbeat drumming there.

         “Me too.” Sami whispered with a shaky grin, looking up to meet Charlie’s disbelieving eyes. He could see a smile of Charlie’s own starting to form, like the sun breaking from behind a cloud.

         Slowly, gently, Charlie reached out to cradle Sami’s face in his hand, caressing a thumb along his cheek just as reverently as he had in that terrible underground room. His other hand was still holding tight to Sami’s like it was a lifeline.

         “Can... can I kiss you?” Charlie whispered, edging forward in his chair, expression full of wondering hope. Such shy, sweet gestures from such a brash, headstrong man made Sami’s heart swell, flooding him with soft affection.

         “I thought you’d never ask,” Sami whispered, smiling as he leaned up to meet him halfway.

         It was a simple, chaste kiss, but to Sami it was as if someone had set a fire inside his chest - he felt warmed all the way through. He could feel Charlie’s stubble scratching his cheeks, the hand on his face so cautious and gentle - Charlie held him as if he were a precious thing, like he might shatter if not treated carefully. Nobody in Sami’s entire life had ever held him like this - and after the brutal week he’d had, he absolutely adored it.

          _How have I been lucky enough to deserve this man?_

         Sami leaned further forward and grabbed the front of Charlie’s shirt, trying to deepen the kiss; but he was stopped by Charlie pushing him back and breaking away, shaking his head admonishingly.

         “Ah, nice try,” Charlie said, laughing gently, “but we both know you are in no shape for  _that._ ”

         Sami rolled his eyes, trying not to look like he was pouting, and knew from the fond look in Charlie’s eyes that he’d failed miserably. Charlie was right, though - he was still totally exhausted, and his ribs and shoulder especially were already warning him against any further exertion.

         “Later.” Charlie promised, eyes glinting with mischief. He brushed his fingers once through Sami’s messy curls before sitting back, that hand returning to his lap. “For now, you oughta let yourself sleep some more, and when you wake next, we’ll see about gettin’ you some food, aye?”

         Sami nodded sleepily, settling back into the pillows. He moved Charlie’s hand that he held down to his stomach, intent on still holding on to it while he slept. For safe keeping, or something like that.

         “I am sorry,” Sami murmured, feelings of remorse creeping back in as the quiet stretched on and he drifted toward sleep, “for leaving you behind.”

         “It’s alright, love, you’ve long since been forgiven,” Charlie whispered, voice kind, “but next time, we face the danger together, yeah? I don’t wanna get out safe if I don’t have you by my side.”

         “Alright,” Sami murmured, letting his eyes slip closed. He still had some arguments to make on the subject, but right now sleep was far too tempting to resist any longer.

         As he drifted into the darkness, he could hear Charlie begin to softly sing, thumb stroking a gentle rhythm across Sami’s hand.

_"Oh the summertime is coming,_  
_And the trees are sweetly blooming,_  
_And the wild mountain thyme,_  
_Grows around the blooming heather,_  
_Will ye go, lassie go?_  
_And we'll all go together..."_

**Author's Note:**

>  _Translations (in order of appearance):_  
>  _“Comrades!”_  
>  _“We cannot continue-“_  
>  _“Fuck you.”_  
>  _“Don’t worry, darling.”_  
>   ~
> 
> C’est fini! This was a pretty big departure from my usual ultra-fluffy fare, but I think I'm satisfied with how this big ol' pile of tropes turned out in the end. I’m not sure it makes any sense at all to people less deeply invested in these characters than I am, but I had fun writing it, at least!
> 
> Bonus content: the song Charlie sings is a Scottish folk song known as "Blooming Heather" or "Mountain Thyme", and my fav version is probably [this one by Ed Sheeran](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOJl3vUX-6E) (who isn't Scottish, I know I know), though his lyrics are a little different (and the bit about the protag being able to replace his true love is always odd, but gosh, it is pretty to listen to).
> 
> To all those who have been commenting and kudo-ing on my other Charlie/Sameer works and sending me messages on tumblr: you have made my day, my life, and my year. I really only thought when I started all this that max three people would read these (myself included), so seeing all the love people have for the works and this ship warms my whole entire heart, and has encouraged me to keep writing. Thank you!!


End file.
